


Fake It

by Decisions_Decisions



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Eventual Happy Ending, Fake Sex, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mutual Pining, Pretend lovers to friends to real lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decisions_Decisions/pseuds/Decisions_Decisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t supposed to be real; Sherlock had assured him that it would be simple, no strings attached. They’d pretend to be a couple for as long as it took for Sherlock’s mother to stop insisting that Sherlock settle down and then they’d break up. He’d leave with some money for his troubles and Sherlock would have his freedom. That was all it was supposed to be. John just didn’t count on actually falling for Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John sipped at the overpriced coffee wondering if trying to prove to himself that he was trying was worth the frankly ridiculous price. The coffee was alright but it wasn’t good enough to be worth the amount he paid for it. It was watery, not nearly as strong as he liked it, and the blueberry muffin he’d ordered hadn’t been great either. It was much too dry and too greasy and he hadn’t been able to eat much of it before he'd given up. His therapist had assured him that the expense would be worth it for a break from the bleakness of his bedsit but it hadn’t helped, not that he’d expected it to. The only thing he managed to do was waste almost half of the money he had at the moment on a disappointing breakfast. He could have stayed home and saved himself the hassle. 

He was at the point where he was seriously considering calling his sister Harry and asking if he could kip on her couch. It would be awful and it would probably end in another fight and more stress than he could handle at the moment, but at least he could afford it. He was so caught up in debating with himself the pros and cons of staying with Harry that he almost didn’t notice when someone slid into the obnoxiously bright red booth across from him. His eyes snapped up and he had to stifle back a gasp when he caught sight of eyes like a crystal prism filled with more colors than he could count, sharp cheekbones, pale skin, and dark curls. He was smirking and John felt his eyes drawn to plump cupids bow lips and unconsciously traced his own with his tongue.

“Good you find me attractive that will make this much easier.” A deep baritone rumbled out of those lips. The man occupying the booth across from him radiated mystery like an old bookshop. The man obviously seemed pleased with himself and John wondered why someone who could obviously do better was trying to chat him up in a nearly abandoned restaurant.

“Sorry, who are you?” He asked suspicion creeping into his voice looking over at the man with narrowed eyes. His fingers tightened on the knife, it was dull, but if he hit it in the right spot it didn’t need to be sharp. 

The man’s smirk grew into a pleased grin giving John a flash of perfect teeth. It should have been pleasant, but it seemed off somehow like it had been faked. The smile looked like it belonged on the face of a horror movie doll not the admittedly strange man sitting across from him. The man rested his chin on his folded hands the pleased smile making the hairs on the back of John’s neck stand on end. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“How?” John blinked in confusion, feeling a little bit like he’d just had the rug pulled out from under him. 

The man sighed sounding frustrated that John didn’t immediately give him the answer he was seeking. He asked again, his tone giving John the impression that he didn’t like it when people didn’t understand things the instant he said them. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Afghanistan.” He said suspicion curling his voice into something vaguely unpleasant. “Why are you here? There are plenty of empty booths; there are enough spaces to choose from.” He gestured to the empty restaurant around them, the only other person sitting at the red checkered tables glaring at them from over his newspaper.

“Don’t be ridiculous I’m not here to eat.” The man said waving off the idea before he smiled in a way that made it seem as though he knew that John wasn’t going to like what he said next. “I’m looking for a boyfriend.”

And the smug arsehole, and that was what John was going to call this nameless stranger in his head maybe even after he learned his name, with his smug smile was right. John didn’t like what he’d had to say at all. “Look mate, I don’t think this is the best place to be looking, you’d find more options elsewhere, where there are actually people.”

“I found you here.” Smug Arsehole said it casually like he had no doubt that at the end of it he’d be walking away with a brand new boyfriend and that the man across from him would happily fill that position. His voice dropped an octave and his smile grew more charming. “And I’m not looking for options.”

John narrowed his eyes something like adrenaline beginning to pool in his veins as the man across from him began to really register as a threat. “And I’m not interested.”

“Are you sure?” The man’s voice was taunting him curling up like the subtle creases at his lips and eyes. 

“Pretty sure yeah.” John said with a fake smile and a nod his knuckles beginning to turn white around the handle of the knife.

“Are you certain that an injured army doctor with a psychosomatic limp, no job prospects and no money to spare can afford to say no?” He said in a condescending questioning tone his lips pulled back in a superior smirk, laughter dancing in his eyes.

The rug that John felt had been pulled out from under him earlier had certainly been pulled out from under him now. His eyes narrowed and he felt a buzz begin to stir in his veins. "Are you stalking me?”

The man sighed shaking his head as though John was the one kid in class that always blurted out the wrong answer. “I only started watching you half an hour ago."

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” John smiled at him, with the smile Harry once called the smile of death, and even though his blood was boiling with his rage he seemed calm. In his head the Smug Arsehole became Smug Arsehole Stalker.

Smug Arsehole Stalker rolled his eyes dramatically, like John didn’t have the right to be upset at him. “I’m not looking for a real boyfriend; Mummy simply refuses to believe me when I say that I’m perfectly content on my own. She’s begun sending men she thinks I would find attractive to my flat. My brother likes to use them to spy on me and they often crumble to his demands. This can't continue, but Mummy is persistent so until I can prove to her that I am in a happy relationship with someone she will keep trying to force me into one. So I plan on hiring you to pretend to be my boyfriend in order to stop the endless parade of suitors.” 

John blinked at him and he could almost see the question marks swirling around his own head. He shook them off about to speak up when Smug Arsehole Stalker cut him off before he’d even gotten a word out.

“You’ll be paid for your troubles of course; room and board is included, though we will have to share a room. There’s a second bedroom, but what kind of boyfriend moves in with his significant other and sleeps in a different room? We will have to make it sound like we are sleeping together in more intimate ways, Mummy gossips about me with the landlady, but there will be no actual sexual relations between us. After we’ve developed what appears to be a steady relationship for long enough that it looks serious, we’ll pretend to break things off. Then Mummy will believe that I need time to deal with my feelings, we’ll go our separate ways, and the never ending nonsense will stop." Sherlock said the word ‘feelings’ like the word itself offended him, but everything else he said like it was a simple fact.

John felt the tension in him snap and relieved giggles escaped from his lips. He composed himself when he saw the other man smiling back, but he wasn't quite able to hide the smile. "So you're not looking for a boyfriend at all, just someone to keep your family out of your hair. You could have opened with that. I'd have been more inclined to listen, so all I’d have to do is pretend to be your boyfriend then?"

"It wouldn't have been as much fun." Smug Arsehole Stalker said his smile a little more real this time and John was feeling a bit less like stabbing the man. "I am in need of someone I find aesthetically pleasing, male as my entire family believes me to be gay, skilled in ways that are useful to my work, sexually experienced so as to simulate the appropriate conversation and gestures of a romantic partner, and desperate enough to put up with my personality which I have been informed multiple times is dreadful."

"Whoever informed you of your personality is spot on. The name's John by the way, John Watson." John said a bit of a smirk working its way onto his face as he leaned over offering his hand to the smug arsehole.

"Sherlock Holmes." The man said with a wink in a way that John tried very hard not to find charming as he captured John’s hand in his larger leather gloved one.

"So how did you know about me? I haven't done much in half an hour, certainly not enough for you to know all that." John says waving his hand a bit to capture the all that. Feeling a bit relieved in spite of himself now that he's, well he's not really certain of anything, but gut instinct says that despite his frankly horrible people skills Smug Stalker Arsehole Sherlock Holmes isn't a bad guy. A bit of an arse, but not a bad guy, and honestly not a bad looking guy either. 

Sherlock grinned and it was vaguely unsettling, for John it almost felt like he'd just given a stick of dynamite to a pyromaniac or a loaded gun to someone with an itchy trigger finger. It wasn’t as unpleasant a feeling as it should have been, the danger that roiled around them like a heavy fog. He gestured to John's wrists. "Your face and hands are tan, but no tan above the wrists; you've been abroad but not sunbathing. Your limp is really bad when you walk but you never asked for a chair or seemed bothered by it when you were standing still. That is an indicator that the circumstances behind the injury were traumatic, so traumatic injury, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq. Quite simple really."

"Okay." John licked his lips. "So how do you know about everything else?"

"You ordered one of the cheapest most filling items on the menu but you acted like you'd just ordered the most expensive option they had. You seemed disgusted, not with the food but with yourself for ordering it, so to you the food is expensive." Sherlock reached across the table turning over John's now knifeless hand to reveal little white lines and the hard shells of callouses. "And hands can give a lot about a person away. You have callouses and scars from medical work and training as well as from shooting and maintaining your gun. Using a scalpel rubs against the hands in a different place than the using and maintenance of a service weapon."

"So that's all it took for you to put me together?" John asked awe and wonder seeping into his tone. He shook his head in stunned disbelief. “You just looked at me and figured it out.”

"Yes." Sherlock said looking vaguely uncomfortable, the smug confident man he appeared to be was temporarily lost in the self-doubt that quickly flashed over his face and vanished behind a smug mask.

"That was amazing!" John felt his cheeks stretch in a grin that felt too big even though he couldn’t stop it. 

Sherlock seemed taken aback by the praise, he shook his head as though he’d been given a wrong answer again, but this time he wasn’t sure what to do with it. "That's not what people usually say."

John blinked with confusion yet again his head doing gymnastics to understand; the man sitting across from him was like a magician. He pulled facts about people out of tiny things like tan lines and callouses how could anyone not be amazed by what he could do? "What do people usually say?"

"Piss off." Sherlock said scrunching his face in a prefect mimic of a look of pure disgust. 

John laughed and it seemed to have startled a laugh out of Sherlock too as their giggles carried across the table. After a little while he composed himself but he was smiling now, and he honestly couldn’t remember a time since coming back when he was as comfortable as he was here talking to a near perfect stranger. “So what exactly is it that you do?”

Sherlock as mysterious as he seemed earlier now seemed like a kid at show and tell with something really cool to show off. “I’m a consulting detective, when the police are out of their depth which is always they consult me and if the case is interesting enough I take it. I often find myself in need of an assistant to act as a sounding board, so you would accompany me to crime scenes. As an army doctor you must be accustomed to seeing a lot of injuries and violent deaths.” 

“Yes it comes with the territory.” John nodded along, trying to hide the thrill of excitement he had at the thought of being useful again.

“And it’s exactly why I think you would make the perfect fake boyfriend.” Sherlock grinned like a cat that had snagged a particularly tricky bird out of midair. “Medical knowledge and an illegal firearm are useful things to have around when you make a living rattling cages.”

“How do you know about my gun? I’m not even supposed to have it.” John gave up trying to hide his smile as he looked in awe at the brilliant man across from him.

“There’s a bulge in the back of your trousers hidden under your ridiculous jumper most people wouldn’t notice it.” Sherlock said gesturing toward it before his hand rejoined its partner under his chin.

“But you’re not most people.” John said with a raised brow a small amused smile forming on his lips.

“Obviously.” Sherlock said his smile sharp but real, his eyes softer than they’d been before. “How do you feel about the violin?”

“Sorry what?” John asked wondering how often Sherlock the Smug Arsehole Stalker would catch him by surprise.

“I play the violin when I’m thinking sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Perspective partners should know the worst about each other.” Sherlock followed with another of his fake smiles.

“From what I’ve seen that probably isn’t the worst you can do.” John snorted with a forced smile of his own.

“If you’re interested in my offer meet me tomorrow night at seven the address is two two one B Baker Street, afternoon.” Sherlock said as he stood in one fluid motion and popped his collar like he knew that it highlighted his sharp cheekbones, the Smug Arsehole probably knew it did. He winked and turned toward the door his ridiculously long coat swirling around his legs. He walked out the door as John watched him go, knowing that no matter what he decided later he’d probably find himself meeting Sherlock the next night at seven.


	2. Chapter 2

John sat in the booth for a long while feeling well and truly stunned. He took another sip of his coffee in an attempt to occupy himself as he thought about whether or not he was willing to trust this Sherlock character. It was either him or Harry and considering how it had been the last time he’d met Harry it looked like he was going to be getting a fake boyfriend. He picked at his muffin a bit more before giving up on breakfast as a lost cause. He made his way back to his bedsit his thoughts revolving around Sherlock and when he made it back he sat down at his desk.

He took out his laptop and typed the name Sherlock Holmes in the search bar his tongue peeking out in concentration while he typed. He clicked on the first promising link and after reading the introduction it was quite clear that he’d found his Smug Arsehole Stalker. God the man even sounded like an arsehole online. Still John found him charming which would probably make his therapist nervous if he ever mentioned it on his blog and at the rate he was headed it was looking more and more like a possibility.

He frowned biting his lips as he looked over Sherlock’s site impressed by how much it fit what he’d seen of the man, with the blue coloration, the cityscape, and scathing comments directed at both clients and the police. His own blog was a bit plain in comparison, but the content probably wasn’t as mind numbing as Sherlock’s. The man had somehow managed to post an index of over two hundred kinds of tobacco ash and a list of their distinct differences on his site.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out with a grimace not yet willing to leave his research. The number was unknown but the content of the message made it clear enough who might have sent the message. ‘Change of plans, meet me at my flat, you don’t need to knock I leave the door unlocked for clients. We need to develop a sense of familiarity with each other. SH’

John felt his stomach drop like he was falling through the air as he looked at the text. He shook his head feeling like he was either in the middle of one of those camera shows where someone pulled pranks on innocent strangers or Sherlock had lied about how long he’d been stalking him for. Against his better judgement he sent a text back. ‘Sherlock?’

His phone buzzed almost as soon as the message went through, seems like Sherlock wasn’t the most patient stalker. ‘Who else would it be? SH’

John looked down at his phone his mouth open in shock the thought that perhaps the part of him that had labeled Sherlock a Smug Arsehole Stalker was right ringing in his head. He quickly typed and sent his reply. ‘How did you get this number?’

His phone buzzed again and John could almost hear the cheeky reply. ‘From you before you went to get breakfast, you’re surprisingly easy to pickpocket for a soldier. SH’

John huffed in annoyance so Smug Arsehole Pickpocket Stalker, he'd need to quit adding to that list or he had a feeling it would just keep growing until it was exhausting even mentally. ‘You pick pocketed me?’

He began to wonder how Sherlock knew what he was going to say because the instant he hit send his phone vibrated as Sherlock’s reply came in. ‘I put it back, now meet me at my flat. We have a lot to discuss. I'm waiting for you. SH’

John could practically feel a lecture about respecting personal property building up in his chest but he bit it back seeing as he’d be talking to empty air. ‘Sherlock it’s a bit rude to pick pocket someone just to get their number. You could have asked for it and I would have given it to you.’

‘There was no guarantee that you would give me your number, besides I got it the fun way. SH’ Sherlock the Smug Pickpocket Arsehole Stalker was probably smirking into his screen John thought as he looked at the message his lips pulling down into a sour frown.

‘You think pickpocketing is fun?’ John typed in with a longsuffering sigh as though he’d been dealing with these kinds of antics for ages. The lecture was building up again and he silently put it away in the back of his mind knowing that if he did take Sherlock up on his offer eventually he’d end up using it. 

“Depends on the target and whether or not there is risk involved.’ Sherlock sent followed a second later by. ‘Now come over I’m getting bored of waiting for you unless you’d rather live with your alcoholic brother who recently walked out on his wife. SH’

John felt his mouth tighten like he’d just tried to smile through a bite of lemon. ‘How did you? Wait don’t tell me. Why are you waiting for me I thought we were meeting tomorrow?’ 

‘Not anymore I hate repeating myself. Baker Street, now I require your presence. SH’ Sherlock texted back and John could practically hear the impatient tone of Sherlock’s voice as he read it.

Vindictively he typed in and sent. “And if I don’t come?’

His phone beeped. ‘Then consider my offer rescinded. SH’ 

John sighed but dutifully put his phone in his pocket and stood to his feet. He limped down to the street and debated calling out for a cab, but he didn’t have enough money for it so he went on foot. He ignored everyone else his mind on his destination and prayed he wouldn’t get lost as he worked out how to use the map function on the phone Harry had given him.

When he finally made it to Baker Street looked at the numbers of every door he passed until he stopped in front of a door that was so dark green it almost appeared black two two one b proudly shining in bronze lettering. He could hear music, just barely through the door the tune low and sweet in his ears. He let himself in looking around the small hallway his eyes being drawn to the stairs. He could hear the music clearly enough to think it was probably the violin Sherlock had mentioned earlier and he followed the unfamiliar song up the stairs to a door. He took a breath and reminded himself that he had no need to be nervous and he pushed it open.

Sherlock was standing by the window his dramatic coat replaced by an expensive looking blue silk dressing gown. The sunlight coming in through the window almost seemed to make him glow the effect turning Sherlock from mortal man to ethereal figure the music he drew from his instrument adding to the effect. He looked like a model, or a figure from myth, or even something not altogether human. He swayed as he dragged the bow over the strings the tone of the song sounding hopefully optimistic to John's ears. He turned away unwilling to interrupt Sherlock's playing and blinked as he caught sight of a human skull on the mantle of the fireplace.

He stared at it for what felt like a long moment before he turned his head to look around the flat. John could see the appeal, even though it wasn’t in the best state at the moment as evidenced by the piles of boxes and papers strewn about. Sherlock had to put it mildly eclectic tastes and the décor was somehow as comforting and homey as it was unsettling and bizarre. The skull, both the real one on the mantle and the portrait on the wall were a bit macabre, but John was a doctor and he wasn’t squeamish at the sight of human bones. There were many things vying for his attention, like the cow skull that was wearing headphones, the stuffed bat and the bug collection sitting on the mantle by the skull, and the makeshift laboratory in the kitchen. There also looked to be some experiments going on one of which was letting off an odor that was unpleasant but thankfully not strong, though that might have just been the flat itself.

“Well you asked me to come.” John said as Sherlock finished his song with a flourish ignoring him for just long enough to put his violin back in its case with care.

“Yes. We have less than two days to prepare our landlady Mrs. Hudson is so excited to meet you she’s coming back from holiday early. If our relationship does not look real to her Mummy will hear of it and not only will she send more suitors she’ll insist on staying to make sure I make a good impression.” Sherlock said with a false bounce in his step and contempt masked as joy in his voice as he sank down in the overstuffed green chair.

John’s lips twitched as he looked at Sherlock trying to feign angered annoyance when he was really trying hard to hold back giggles at the strangeness of it all. “You don’t even know that I’m going to be your boyfriend yet.”

“You’re here aren’t you?” Sherlock said with an elegant raise of his brow and John fought the urge to roll his eyes at the smugness that was radiating off of him like light from a sun.

“So I am.” John said knowing that Sherlock was right, if he didn’t want to accept Sherlock’s offer he’d be sitting in his bedsit instead of standing in Sherlock’s flat trying to appear serious. “So where do you think we should start?”

Sherlock folded his hands under his chin to reflect on the answer. “We should start with developing an ease with touching each other and gathering a basic knowledge of each other’s preferences and habits, obviously. More intimate gestures can come later.”

“Intimate gestures?” John drew out the vowels into a question his face carefully blank to hide the confusion he felt. How intimate could they get they were just pretending to be together it wasn’t like they were actually going to be intimate in a romantic way with each other.

Sherlock sighed dramatically the annoyance he felt with John’s answer an almost physical thing. He slumped down in the seat as though the stupidity of it had drained the energy from him, somehow managing to spread himself out so that he barely fit on the chair anymore. He was only like that for a second before he sprung up and rearranged himself so that he was crouched on the chair like a gargoyle. He looked quite comfortable with himself folded up in a way that made John's body ache in sympathy. 

“It is considered strange when lovers do not show any signs of physical affection. We are in a new relationship after all and according to my research new couples have issues keeping their body parts to themselves.” Sherlock said a thick layer of animosity in his voice as he folded his arms over his chest his face scrunching in distaste his eyebrows forming a stiff v over his eyes as he looked over at John with eyes that reminded John of a bird of prey that had spotted a small mammal to hunt. John had never felt more small in his life.

“Well that is one of the reasons people get together. We should probably move it on to the couch then, unless you're okay with me sitting on your lap?" John said in jest hoping to distract Sherlock his lips pulling into an amused smile as he seated himself on the dark green sofa. His eyes widened and Sherlock’s smirk grew into a full grin as he stood up from his crouch and he seemed to float across the room weightlessly stepping over the coffee table to collapse on the couch beside John. He shifted to get comfortable and somehow after much tangling of limbs and a direct hit to John’s right kidney he managed to drape himself halfway on John. His arm curled around John's shoulders and one of his legs covering John's lap with his other hand holding up a mobile phone that seemed to have materialized out of the ether.

Part of John wanted to shove the Smug Arsehole off of him, but he convinced himself that he just couldn't be arsed to do it after walking all the way here from his bedsit. It had absolutely nothing to do with how strangely normal it felt to have the other man draped over him and everything to do with how he just needed to get used to the contact. Sherlock was right after all if they never got comfortable around each other the charade would fall flat. They sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence Sherlock on his phone doing who knows what while John just sat there trying to ignore the searing heat that was growing where Sherlock's body was pressed against him.

After a while where they just sat in silence Sherlock huffed just barely turning his head to glare at him from the side of his eye the look not as sharp as John thought it could be. "What are you waiting for? I'll warn you if I start to feel uncomfortable.”

He gestured a lot with his hands, they moved with every word he spoke and since he was sitting on John he could feel every move the other man made as he waved off John’s silence. John opened his mouth to say something, but the words just felt flat. How did someone even react to something like that? He rolled his eyes but moved his hand to stroke Sherlock’s curls. They felt soft and curled around his fingers as he dragged his nails gently down the other man’s skull. The act reminding him of petting a cat, one with long fur and an attitude, so much so that he began to wonder if Sherlock would turn and hiss at him if he got tired of the petting. 

Sherlock somehow pressed closer against him until John was the one who ended up with a lapful of someone. He tried to be annoyed with his newfound blanket but Sherlock wasn’t that heavy and well he hadn’t had that kind of attention in a while. It was nice even with Sherlock’s bony arse digging into his thighs, his legs curled on the sofa so one of his heels was pressed a bit too hard against his knee, and one of his arms curled around the back of John’s neck for leverage. It wasn’t awkward even though he’d only just met the man and it had every right to be. It should have been a mess but it was probably because it was all acting. He was just playing the part of Sherlock’s boyfriend though he felt more like a breathing piece of furniture than a romantic partner at the moment.

“I like to take long baths.” John said suddenly breaking the strange silence that had formed between them his voice smooth and steady drifting out into the silence around them. He didn’t move, but that was mostly because any move he made was liable to send Sherlock onto the floor.

Sherlock leaned back to look at him with his nose crinkled with curiosity like John had done something unexpectedly interesting and he was pleased. For the moment John ignored him forcefully pushing down the warm feeling that was beginning to take a hold in his chest. He looked out over the flat trying not to wince as he saw something that might be alive bubbling away in the sink in sickly shades of green and tan the warm feeling turning cool at the sight of it. “I don’t mind cooking or cleaning, but I can see from the state of things that you probably don’t do much of either. No one who cooks would leave their socks or a full on laboratory in their kitchen like that and you’ve left a quite a mess around here.”

“Rudimentary deductions John, but they show promise.” Sherlock said in a manner that seemed to say either I’m impressed but not really that impressed, or more likely I’m just halfheartedly pretending to be impressed to keep the conversation going. 

“I don’t have to cook Mrs. Hudson takes care of that on the days I eat when I don’t order takeout. I like the flat the way it is, clean it if you like but don’t touch my experiments.” Sherlock’s voice dropped an octave taking on a note of warning his eyes sharp as he looked down at John. He grinned a sharp toothy threat disguised as good humor that rang false. It was like the horror movie doll smile he’d pulled earlier only the doll had already come to life and was off and ready to unleash death and destruction on some poor unsuspecting soul. The smile didn’t bug John though, he had a feeling, gut instinct he could call it that Sherlock wasn’t a threat.

John raised a brow at the odd turn of phrase his lips pulling back into a smile without him realizing it wry humor radiating off him like a small sun. “Well I will be using the kitchen so we should probably clear off an area for cooking. You can keep your lab space as long as I can cook eggs without spilling acid in them.”

“Fine.” Sherlock said his lips tight in feigned displeasure just barely managing to hide the grin that was forming on his lips. He didn’t keep up the charade for long before the grin turned vicious in a mischievous way and the feeling that he wouldn’t like what Sherlock had to say next rose up in John’s chest. “We should practice kissing each other next, we’ll need to be able to kiss convincingly in public.”

John felt like he’d need to stop standing on rugs sometime soon his eyes drawn to the cupids bow lips that were mere centimeters from his own. When had Sherlock gotten so close? His tongue traced the edge of his mouth as his heart began to thump a bit harder in his chest. This wasn’t the soonest he’d kissed someone after meeting them, but this felt different in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. The air felt charged as Sherlock’s grin slid from his face replaced with an expression that looked so open and venerable it was almost painful to look at. 

Acting, his brain shouted at him before he could drown in a mess of panic followed by another mental outburst of, you're just acting. The panic subsided though his heart never slowed beating. They were just acting and they needed to do this or well it was back to Harry's for him and this was already much better than staying with Harry. He slid forward the distance between them immeasurably wide even though they were too close. He could feel every inch of Sherlock’s body as the man shifted against him sending tingles of electricity dancing up and down his spine.

Sherlock pulled him down and he was crouched awkwardly over the other man. His neck was beginning to protest under the strain and the scent of minty breath, expensive smelling cologne, and something that was chemical in nature began to fill his nose and lungs. Sherlock pushed himself up until their lips were so close a word spoken would press them together.

“Sherlock! Warn a bloke when you have company!” An angry masculine voice rang out and John sprang back like a jack in the box.

“What is it Lestrade.” Sherlock said his voice tight with anger as glared at the intruder, a handsome silver haired man who looked to be embarrassed at having caught the two of them in an obviously intimate moment, with ice cold eyes. 

“There’s been another one I’ll text you the address. Stop on by when you’re dressed.” The man said turning and leaving the flat muttering something under his breath that might have been something about someone named Anderson owing him money.

When he was gone Sherlock and John turned to look at each other before bursting out into laughter. John’s high giggles ringing out with Sherlock’s deeper chuckles. The laughing fit lasted a while lengthened every time they caught sight of each other until it began to slowly taper off.

“Well that spoiled the mood.” John said giggles still escaping him even as he said it high off of the almost kiss.

“We’ve convinced Lestrade, he’s in Mycroft’s pockets. We’ll be hearing from him soon.” Sherlock said his laughter vanishing into a whiny disappointed tone at Mycroft’s name. He stood sliding like silk off of John’s lap and gestured to the hall by the door with his head. “I’m going to get changed won’t be but a moment, wait for me out here. It looks like you’ll be joining me on a case tonight.”


End file.
